She wanted to cry, but even at nine years old, Cassie knew it wouldn’t do any good. Instead, she pushed a rickety chair against the kitchen counter and set to work brewing a pot of fresh coffee—the only cure for what Donna dubbed the Whiskey Blues.
Now, as Cassie surveyed her handiwork twenty years later, she couldn’t believe she was responsible for the festive sight before her eyes. Even Martha Stewart would be proud.
The tall pillar candles in red, green, and gold that lined the oak mantel were nestled in a fresh cedar garland—courtesy of Luke’s pruning skills—filling the entire living room with a heavenly, woodsy aroma. An antique sled rested on the hearth, stacked high with pine logs and cinnamon-scented fire starters. A quilt, each square depicting one of the twelve days of Christmas, rested across the back of the cozy loveseat. But Cassie’s favorite touch was an exquisite, hand-carved nativity set Luke said he’d made for her grandmother a few years ago. For some reason, Cassie liked knowing he had crafted it with his own two hands, and she’d given it the prized position in the center of the coffee table.
“Wow.” Luke wiped his boots on the Christmas-themed welcome mat before coming to stand beside her. “I’m impressed.”
“I’m rather pleased myself.”
“Oh?” His hazel eyes shone with a mischievous glint. “Getting into the Christmas spirit, are you?”
“Don’t get too excited. I only meant at least it doesn’t look like Rudolph barfed everywhere.”
He let out a deep rumble of laughter. “Okay, fair enough. For what it’s worth, though, I think it looks great.”
At his praise, a warm glow spread over every inch of her. “Thanks.”
“The sun is setting.” Luke strode toward the bay window to peer outside. “In twenty minutes or so we can step out front, and I’ll turn on the lights.”
Cassie smiled at the way his face lit up in childlike excitement. She had a feeling she’d rather gaze atthatillumination over some gaudy Christmas light display.
“It’s already sunset?” She reached for her phone to check the time, then remembered she’d banished the traitorous device to the darkness beneath her pillow.
No matter how many times she blocked Derek’s number, he got a new one. And the longer she ignored him, the more he persisted. She had hoped he would at least have the decency to leave her alone at Christmas. Was he clueless to the cruel irony? Or did he simply not care? When it came to Derek, both scenarios were equally plausible.
“Yep.” Luke rested one knee on the window seat as he leaned forward for a better view. “Judging on how low the sun is in the sky, I’d say it’s just past five o’clock.”
As if on cue, Cassie’s stomach rumbled, and she placed her hand over it as if her palm would somehow muffle the noise.
“If that means you’re hungry, you’re already on Poppy Creek’s dinner schedule.” Luke’s eyes twinkled with humor.
Cassie blushed. “I don’t normally eat this early. But I forgot to have lunch. And breakfast, actually.” Her stomach emitted another growl, and Cassie gave it a small, appeasing pat. It could be upset all it wanted, but it wouldn’t do any good. She hadn’t packed a single thing to eat.
“That reminds me!” Disappearing outside, Luke returned with the thermos she’d left at his office and a large wicker basket bursting with goodies. “I should have brought this in earlier, but it’s cold enough outside, the food should be fine.”
Cassie followed him into the kitchen, her heart beating in a strange rhythm, as though trying to keep up with her conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she was starving and already eyeing the colossal cinnamon rolls like a ravenous reindeer. On the other hand, it unsettled her that everyone she’d met in town seemed so kind and welcoming. It didn’t add up with the picture she’d formed in her mind.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” she told him, although her mouth watered as he unpacked the contents of the basket on the butcher block island.
“I didn’t. You can thank my mom. She’s the unofficial welcome committee in Poppy Creek.” With all the items lined up on the counter, Luke said, “Take your pick. Personally, I’d start with the stew. No one knows what’s in it, but I promise it’ll be one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.”
Cassie eyed the quart-sized mason jar warily. “It’s not squirrel meat, is it?”
Luke sputtered with laughter. “I didn’t mean it was mystery meat! But nice to know what you think of small towns.” He set a copper saucepan on the stove and unscrewed the lid of the mason jar. “It’s beef. But the recipe is a secret. Believe me, some people in this town have been trying to figure it out for years.”
Cassie slid onto the backless stool and rested her elbows on the smooth wooden surface of the butcher block. “You really like living here, don’t you?”
Luke glanced over his shoulder as he stirred the stew on the gas range. “Yeah, I do. I like that the beauty of nature is right outside my back door. And the people here can be nosy, but they look out for each other. I can’t imagine anyonenotwanting to live here.”
“My mom didn’t.” The words slipped out before Cassie even realized the thought had crossed her mind.
Luke’s hand stilled a moment before he resumed the figure eight pattern in the simmering stew. “Do you know why she left?”
Cassie ran her finger along a nick in the countertop, wishing she’d never brought up the subject. “No, not really. But she hated it here. That much I know.”
Luke stirred in silence, and Cassie stole a glance in his direction, noting the deep lines etched into his forehead.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said softly.
